The Case of the Dancer: Shawn in Tights?
by SylverSpyder
Summary: A murder, mayhem, dance lessons, Lassie-face doing something involving karaoke, and Shawn in tights. Yes, Psychic Detective Shawn Spencer may be facing his most challenging case yet. In response to Clem entine's prompt The case of the tiny dancer.
1. At Rest

Disclaimer:

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc...  
>are the property of their respective owners.<br>The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  
>The author is in no way associated with the owners,<br>creators, or producers of any media franchise (though I really really wish Psych was mine).  
>No copyright infringement is intended. If it were, I would say so.<br>After all, I have long believed brutal honesty is the best policy,  
>and yes, that outfit does make you look fat.<p>

Prologue:

For Jenna Hashberger dancing was her life. When the music came on,  
>it was like her feet started to move of their own volition.<br>It was the one time when she could forget that in her twenty-three years she had been through more pain than most people experienced in their lives.  
>Even now, she was only free when she danced. Even when she slept,<br>her dreams were haunted by images, images of what had been, and what had almost been.  
>But for once, instead of being about her past, when Jenna danced,<br>it was about the music, the soft brush of the silk ballet shoes against the wood floor,  
>the sigh of fabric as she pirouetted, the stretch of time-hardened muscles,<br>the damp feeling of sweat coating her limbs,  
>the whip of her hair as she fell back to the floor after her torjete,<br>still feeling as if she was flying It was because of this she didn t notice the person behind her,  
>watching her as she danced, her eyes closed against the glare of the spotlight,<br>blonde hair glinting in its high ponytail and a sad smile gracing her lips.  
>She didn t see the grin or the raised arm, didn t even notice the blow until it hit her,<br>and everything went black,  
>the music in her head obliterated by the last sound she heard, the laughter. A sound that haunted her dreams and caused many sleepless nights.<p>

In the audience, hiding behind one of the seats, a little girl in a leotard clutched her hands to her ears and whimpered, tears spilling out of eyes clenched shut in fear. A few strands of light curls had slipped out of her barrettes and the wet strands clung to her tear-stained cheeks. A rough hand reached around her midsection and pulled her to her feet. She trembled.

"Time to go, Sweetheart, lets see what the Judges have to make of the score I'm settling."

At the sound of the voice, her eyes slipped open, only to be met by the darkness of a blindfold. She sobbed harder and the arm around her tightened, for a moment the grip almost painful, then relaxed.

"There, there, you aren't the one I'm after, you're just here to prove my point, and I'm not much of one to shoot the messenger."

Ten hours later, she showed up on the stairs to the Santa Barbara police station, shivering in shock and mumbling incomprehensibly, her thin arms wrapped tightly around her small figure as though she might shatter at any moment. The sign around her neck read:

'Be patient dancers,

one and all,

teacher had a little fall,

she won't be teaching anymore,

I'm 1 to 0 on this score,

let's see what you now can discover,

try a dancer undercover,

you have two days to prepare,

the challenge is now in the air,

the competition begins soon,

I'll see you dance to a different tune,

if by the end you don't succeed,

teacher's gravestone will you read,

if I find the one you send,

damage done will never mend,

For them both it shall be the end.'

Attached was a flyer for the California State Young Adult Dancing Competition (ages 5-30), beginning in two days, hosted this year, for the first time, in Santa Barbara California. 


	2. First Positon

Disclaimer:

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc...  
>are the property of their respective owners.<br>The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  
>The author is in no way associated with the owners,<br>creators, or producers of any media franchise (though I really really wish Psych was mine).  
>No copyright infringement is intended. If it were, I would say so.<br>After all, I have long believed brutal honesty is the best policy,  
>and yes, that outfit does make you look fat.<p>

Santa Barbara, 1993

"Dad, you want me to do what?"

"It's just some dance lessons, Shawn. I know you don't want me to replace your mother, its just, I really like this woman, so don't screw this up."

"Right... Cause I'm always the one to screw everything up." Sixteen year old Shawn Spencer stood up from the kitchen table with a bang. Reaching behind himself, he picked up a butterknife and slammed it down in front of his father. "Here, Dad, I think you left this... In My Back!" He was prepared to storm away when his father caught his arm.

"Shawn, it's just this once. It's only a few classes, nothing to worry about. Not a soul will hear about it. And Gus does tap!"

"Well I'm sorry that you ended up with me as your son instead of Gus, but I'm not doing it. You told a woman your son is a dancer to get her to go out with you. I don't even get that!"

"She's a dance teacher, Shawn. That's how it works. Come on. If you do this, I won't even yell at you about that detective exam's results, which i conveniently haven't seen."

Shawn opened his mouth to argue.

"And for God's sake Shawn, don't tell me the dog ate it! We don't have a dog!"

Two weeks later

A blond haired woman in a tutu walked into the studio filled with five year olds while sixteen-year old Shawn examined her, gathering information.

Of course, he thought, Dad doesn't even notice that he's got a good ten years on her.

The woman was about five foot eight, maybe one-hundred and thirty pounds. He noticed a red sequin on her shoes. While the students were still swarming in intermittedly and squeaking to each other in their high-pitched voices, the woman walked over to the vending machine and pulled out a wallet. Shawn frowned at its thickness in relation to his estimated cost of her clothing. When she pulled out a single without looking however, he could assume that it was mostly or entirely singles.

What reason she could possibly have for carrying around so many one dollar bills? His thoughts wandered to, aware that parents paying for lessons used mostly twenties and fives, at least they did based on what he saw coming in. He watched her take her snack over to the desk as she looked over her students. She had left her purse by the vending machine where all the kids had dumped their lunchbags. Curious, Shawn leaned over and rifled through it.

Strange, he thought. She has no cigarettes, but she clearly smelled of cigarette smoke.

He thought back, remembering the way she had been shifting her clothes when she first entered. She must have changed, he realized, but why then had she changed back into sneakers only to put on her ballet shoes? That's when his eyes caught the reflection of another red sequin on her purse. He pulled it towards him once more and stealthily rifled through the pockets again, finding a business card. He looked at it and everything suddenly made sense.

"Oh my God," a shocked Shawn whispered as it all came together. "My dad is dating a pole dancer."

The woman, LeeAnne Keller, stood up as the last of the kids entered the room and the clock hands hit 5 O'clock. She smiled at the crowd of young elementary students faces. "Hi everybody, first thing first, I want you all to introduce yourselves, class. How about we start with Shawn Spencer..." She scanned the room expectantly as though expecting to see a miniature Henry without the wrinkles call out his name.

Shawn sighed and stood up, climbing out of his corner. "I'm Shawn Spencer, Henry Spencer's son."

LeeAnne's eyes widened as she was caught off guard for a moment, then she stumbled back into business. Soon enough Shawn found himself standing at the bar in front of the mirror. The little girl in front of him stuck out her tongue.

What have I gotten myself into?

"...First position..."


	3. Second Position

Disclaimer:

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc...  
>are the property of their respective owners.<br>The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  
>The author is in no way associated with the owners,<br>creators, or producers of any media franchise (though I really really wish Psych was mine).  
>No copyright infringement is intended. If it were, I would say so.<br>After all, I have long believed brutal honesty is the best policy,  
>and yes, that outfit does make you look fat.<p>

"O'Hara! The Chief s voice barked from her office. Jules fixed a serious expression on her face and headed in, noticing as she did that the blinds were pulled shut and wondering if this had anything to do with the appearance of the little girl.

"Yes, Chief?" She was surprised to see Carlton already inside, looking pissed about something.

"How well can you dance?"

Juliet's mouth dropped open as she was about to reply but Chief Vick answered for her. "Not the Robot, Detective. Can you go through the positions in ballet for me?"

Juliet gaped then struggled to do as she was asked, trying to remember the moves from the single three lessons her parents had forced her to try when she was eight (before they truly grasped that when their daughter said she wanted to catch bad guys and wear a uniform, she meant it. After that they spent every Halloween scouring the city for a girl's cop costume.)

She tentatively clacked her heels together. "Uh first position..."

She jumped as there was a loud crash and the door was flung open by a certain Shawn Spencer.

"I am sensing that there is something serious going on. What am I needed for?" He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and Juliet heard an audible sigh come from Lassiter.

"You AREN'T needed."

Shawn snorted in denial."Lassie-face, I feel betrayed! You found some other highly attractive, smoky hazel eyed man with wondrous hair and an incredible connection to the incredible psychic mojo force?"

Lassiter snorted in derision just as Gus entered the room. "Seriously, Shawn? Seriously? The best you can come up with is 'smoky hazel-eyed man' ?"

The Chief threw her hands in the hair in frustration. "Juliet is trying to show us the basic ballet forms, so if you would please gentleman?" She motioned to the door.

"Oh!" Shawn exclaimed. "I was going to tell you that I've tried that no place like home thing before and camels are definitely a more effective way of transportation."

"You know that's right!" Gus and Shawn bumped fists, grinning mischievously.

"Ok," Juliet tried to stay on task. "This is first position. Now-" She tentatively slid her toes together and heels out. "This is second position..."

Next to her Shawn groaned. "No, you never do that! This," he made a movement with his feet. "is second." He moved his feet a few more times, unaware that everyone in the room was gawking at Shawn Spencer dancing in the Chief's office. "And third. Fourth. Fifth. Always the toes remain pointed out."

A throat was cleared in the doorway and Shawn spun around, suddenly aware of what he was doing and seriously embarrassed.

"Where did you learn to dance?" Juliet exclaimed.

"Well, back when my dad was dating that pole dancer..."

Lassiter cut him off. "Nevermind, Spencer. We really do not need to know."

Shawn grinned.

"It is a great story though..."

He noticed then that Gus was staring at him with a betrayed look on his face. "What?"

"Dude, do you know how much crap you give me and Lassiter for tap dancing and now it turns out you do b-ballet?" He was spluttering in righteous indignation.

Shawn sighed. "I'm not that good- Though I did teach lessons for two weeks in Miami."

Juliet shot him a look.

"What? I was behind in my rent and Hell's Angels were staking out the bank for me..."

Now it was Lassiter's turn to shoot him a look.

"Do you have tights?" The Chief interrupted. Lassie's eyes met hers and he suddenly grinned in understanding.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you have tights?" Lassiter repeated gruffly.

"Wait, what? Not really your look, Lassie."

"Do. You. Have. tights?" Lassie growled.

"Why?"

"Since you're going undercover, you're going to need a costume."


End file.
